Chapter Text
Despite all of the shit he’d heard in reference to himself, Futakuchi Kenji was pretty comfortable with himself as a person. You had to have a certain amount of self-confidence in order to say half the stuff he did, he knew with no small amount of pride, and that wasn’t even taking into account things like his team or grades or his astonishing good looks.
Okay, the last thing he definitely repeated to himself through gritted teeth every morning in the mirror as he fought with his hair, but Kenji lived by the phrase “fake it ‘till you make it”.
And it wasn’t as if he’d heard many jabs at his looks, anyway. Insulting someone’s face was low-hanging fruit, and Kenji liked to think he brought out the best in people. He didn’t deign to start shit with just anyone. (Not that attacking his personality was any more clever or surprising.)
But there was a difference between insults and pointing out an actual flaw. In an insulting manner.
“I don’t have a blind spot,” Kenji hissed, indignant, face aflame even as he jerked his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Everyone’s hair was a mess at practice, anyway! Onagawa’s was a perpetual rat’s nest, and no one should get him started on what Koganegawa’s hair did after he sweated out his cheap hair gel. He also had several stories about Moniwa’s hair, too, and for that matter— “Also, senpai, you already left the fucking team, so step off and let the new captain work.”
“Maybe new captain needs to get a haircut because new captain is setting a pretty shitty example by misjudging his third block from his right side in the past hour.”
Kamasaki may have been many things—strangely dependable (when it counted, and only if Kenji never vocalized it), and weirdly sharp (only about some things, of course), and blunt nearly to the point of admirable (not that Kenji would ever admire anything about that fucker)—but one thing he was not was still on the Dateko Boys Volleyball Team.
As such, and as Kenji was about to tell him, he needed to kindly Fuck Off.
“Don’t you have better things to do—”
Kenji was horrifically and unfairly interrupted by Aone’s very solid thump to his chest.
Kamasaki wasn’t even close enough yet for them to need to be physically separated, and Kenji didn’t think it particularly kind to get winded like this when they still had forty-five minutes of practice left. He staggered, wheezing weakly, and fell against Aone’s shoulder in a bid to stay upright. Aone’s hand remained against his chest, and after a long, breathless moment, Kenji realized that he had something in it.
A barrette.
A cute, glittery, lavender barrette. For his hair.
In order, Kenji’s reaction went: he sort of wanted to put it up Aone’s nose in retaliation, then he realized he definitely wanted to put it up Kamasaki’s nose just because, then he realized that it would look far better in Aone’s lighter hair than his own, and then, at last, Kenji realized that the best way to solve this situation was to admit his fault.
“Ah, thank you, Aone-kun!” Kenji chirped, and it wasn’t even all that faked. “You’re right, I definitely should worry about keeping my field of vision open and pin back my hair. Thanks for being such a considerate friend and teammate.”
Kamasaki, predictably, came charging at him like a normal-school-uniform-wearing bull. Aone, just as predictably, threw out an arm and stopped him with another whump of bodily contact. Aone hadn’t even moved from the impact.
“That looks good on you, senpai! It’s very cute!” Koganegawa exclaimed while Kamasaki wheezed on Aone’s other side. “Aone-senpai, is that your sister’s? She has very good taste!”
Aone nodded, and seemed pleased. How adorable. Kenji made a note to take a selfie with the barrette in his hair later. “Well, now that we’ve got that all settled, like the cohesive, trusting, and helpful team we are minus certain parties, let’s get practice back underway!”
“Futakuchiiiii,” Kamasaki valiantly growled, despite the rasp to his voice. (One that made his spine itch, all the way up from his tailbone. He told himself it was just because he’d sounded like a horror game monster, and absolutely for no other reason.) “I was just trying to give you some advice, you bastard. You don’t always have to be such an ass about it.”
“I would always gratefully accept any advice from any of my senpai,” Kenji replied, carefully disinterested as he pretended to straighten his jersey, “but the fact of the matter is that I’m just so positive that all of my senpai have far better things to be doing with their lives than trying to undermine my captaincy by interrupting practice and critiquing my—”
“With less words, captain,” Obara called, and Kenji’s mouth twitched into a frown he immediately fought back.
“Back to practice!” Kenji barked. He didn’t give Kamasaki another glance, because they did have practice, and he did have to set a good example.
And maybe he could see just a little better now. He’d kind of forgotten what peripherals were like. He usually didn’t go that long between haircuts, but he supposed it had been a few extra weeks. Whoops.
Kamasaki didn’t stay long after that. Kenji knew he had work that evening, and he probably shouldn’t have come at all. Kenji hadn’t wanted him to come. The third years had retired, and while Kenji could at least appreciate Moniwa’s occasional appearance (read: appreciate another chance to beg for help with the unexpected, if deserved, stresses of the captaincy), and at least Sasaya was some kind of horrible middle ground of jeering and support, Kamasaki didn’t need to stop by twice a week, and absolutely not in order to critique Kenji’s hair.
Why did he even notice his hair?
Why couldn’t he have complimented him on some of the great blocks up until that point? Or how good his serve was shaping up to be?
After practice, just because he could, Kenji took a picture of himself with the clip still in and added it to his snapchat.
Thankfully, he had enough foresight to do this prior to stripping, because he was many things, but he was not actually so desperate as to upload shirtless pictures of himself onto any kind of media platform. Wrong kind of baiting.
He rinsed off in the showers, preferring to wash his hair at home, and only unclipped his hair afterward. He didn’t have time to cut his hair anytime soon, and he liked to think he wasn’t fragile enough to care about something like hair accessories. Maybe there was merit in this.
“Hey, Aone?”
Aone looked up at him, gruff and silent as usual, but nothing unkind in his expression if you bothered to look. (Kenji always bothered to look.)
“Do you think your sister would mind if I borrowed this?” He held up the barrette and gave him a pleading, puppy dog look.
“Dude, ask Mai-chan if you want hair accessories,” Obara said with a huffy laugh.
“First off, Nametsu would probably take scissors to my hair herself.”
“And second?”
Kenji tapped the screen on his phone to light it back up, then proudly showed them his snapchat notifications. Kamasaki had already replayed the picture twice and made the mistake of screenshotting it.
His beloved team, in response to his utter victory, wore that God You’re Actually An Asshole Aren’t You expression. It was a collective expression they had perfected. Kenji knew it well.
“…She likes that one,” Aone murmured, and Kenji was too surprised by that to take much offense to the rest of the team. “Maybe another.”
“Right, fine! Let me come over and I’ll see if I can’t sweet talk Hitomi-chan into giving me some fashion advice.” And, as usual, he could sweet talk Aone-san into letting him stay for dinner. Kenji wasn’t new to this.
Aone nodded.
(That was their first mistake.)
—
“God, you’re getting sooo big!” Kenji hauled Hitomi up onto his hip, an arm wrapped around her waist for support, and she only indulged him because she could now reach his hair again. She clipped another bow onto his shaggy bangs and beamed. “You’re going to have to keep growing if you want to be able to continue making me pretty.”
“I don’t think I could do that,” Hitomi dubiously replied, and Kenji struggled to keep the grin on his face. How could a little girl deliver better insults than any grown volleyball player he’d ever encountered?
“C’mon, Hitomi-chan, be nice to Kenji-niichan!”
“I can’t work miracles!” she maintained with her nose in the air. “You don’t even like wearing pink.”
“There are other pretty colors,” Aone remarked. As Kenji had predicted, his hair did look good with lavender clips. Hitomi probably wore it best, though.
Kenji set her down, hiding his oof as she tried to hang onto his neck, and ended up plopping down next to Aone. Hitomi took it as an invitation to walk over both of them in order to retrieve another glittery box of hair accessories and jewelry. He would love to invite anyone who’d ever called him cheeky to meet Aone Hitomi. “Maybe if you were both prettier, you wouldn’t get into fights at matches,” she mused, mostly to herself, staring daggers down at the box in her hands. (The stare, unfortunately, bore a strong resemblance to her brother’s.)
“We don’t get into fights,” Kenji lied, and blatantly at that, given the disappointed look both siblings sent him. “Fighting is wrong, Hitomi-chan. Don’t forget that.” Nevermind the fact that he was usually stopping Aone from picking fights, that traitor.
“Niisan tells me about the fights you pick with your own teammates,” Hitomi informed him.
Kenji glared at Aone, who looked to the far wall. Never let it be said that Kenji pitied those who wronged him. “Oh yeah? Did he ever tell you about the fights he picked with the chibi-chan from Karasuno?”
From this angle, he could see the redness creeping up the back of Aone’s neck. He was so pale, it was really obvious. It was also his own damn fault for ratting him out to a little girl.
“Niisan always fights with aces,” Hitomi dismissively replied, flapping her free hand, to Kenji’s disappointment. In his meaner moments, it was kind of fun to mess with Aone about his crush. “Because he’s big, and strong, and blocks everything. But maybe he’d have more friends than a loud-mouthed jackass who’d come over if he didn’t scare everyone all the time.”
“Hitomi if I heard you swearing again—!” Aone-san called down the hallway, cutting across Kenji’s own shocked rebuke, and the three of them nearly dove under the bed together out of abject terror.
“L-Let’s talk about something better,” Hitomi spluttered.
Aone nodded, emphatically.
“Riza-chan at school has a boyfriend now.”
“Does she,” Kenji replied, chin in hand, smirking. He couldn’t believe that ten-year-olds dated now, but neither could he believe that little girls gossiped about the same exact things as high schoolers. “And do you want a boyfriend next, Hitomi-chan?”
“Boys are too much maintenance. Look at how much work it is just to get you two looking okay.”
And the little shit didn’t even mean it cruelly. There were a lot of things testing Kenji’s patience today, and to his credit, he didn’t let his smile crack.
“Well, Hitomi-chan, I did want to borrow a hair clip for practice, remember? I’m counting on your very valuable expertise in the matter.”
“I suppose you do need my help looking nice enough to get a boyfriend, too.”
He ground his teeth together in an effort to maintain his smile. “It’s volleyball practice, not a dating game show.”
“Yeah, but,” Hitomi started, peering up at him with That Stare again, “niisan’s crush plays volleyball, so that means that I’m working with volleyball-proof prettiness now. If it can’t stand a volleyball match, then what good is it for you two?”
Kenji shot Aone a very specific look: why am I getting dragged into your sister’s matchmaking?
Aone just shrugged.
“This one has alligator teeth,” Hitomi declared and fastened a deep green and black striped clip into Kenji’s hair. “It won’t fall out no matter how much you run and jump, and I tested that myself. You can have it because I don’t really like green so much anymore.”
“Thank you, Hitomi-chan. I feel prettier already.”
“Do you have a crush, too?” she demanded.
Kenji cocked an eyebrow. “What does that matter?”
“Why else would boys want to look good? Leave it to the girls, otherwise.”
He personally could not wait for Hitomi to grow up and be unleashed upon an unsuspecting public. He was still trying to talk her into coming to practice or a practice match sometime, just to see how the rest of the team handled her, perhaps including certain troublesome upperclassmen as well. He’d pay good money for that.
“Maybe he does want to look good for volleyball practice,” Aone said, with uncharacteristic slyness, and Kenji glared at him over the top of Hitomi’s head.
“You’ll have to dress up extra for our next practice match then, huh? We’ll give you a full makeover, make you the prettiest, and then no one will resist your charms.”
Aone levelled a flat, unimpressed stare back at him.
Kenji leaned in closer, and at least had the grace to lower his voice before telling him, “I bet chibi-chan looks great with hair clips and barrettes, too. Is that why you carry around extras at matches?”
Aone shoved his hand in his face, and Kenji went down with an undignified squawk. He should have seen it coming.
“You two,” Hitomi said and heaved a sigh more becoming of a weary world leader than a little girl.
“You hurt the ones you love,” Kenji croaked, still being forced into the pink carpet by his teammate. Aone only let him up after he started kicking, albeit blindly and ineffectually.
Hitomi gave him a weird look, but he thought nothing of it.
That was the second mistake, and unfortunately was almost entirely his.
—
“So that’s becoming a thing, huh?” Mai asked, amused he hoped, as Kenji clipped his hair back out of his eyes at the start of practice.
“Maybe we could all learn a thing or two about keeping our hair out of our eyes,” he replied, pointedly, and Onagawa quickly found the process of tying his shoelaces very interesting.
Sakunami, on the other hand, popped into practice with his bangs held back by a headband that was almost certainly a girl’s. Kenji, definitely not having expected this to catch on, only stared at him for a moment too long. Poor, precious Sakunami quailed under his gaze.
“Someone needs to learn that actions have consequences, and trends will start up even despite flippant attitudes,” Mai hissed at him. Then, she raised her voice, and told them, “That’s mine, and if anyone else would like to borrow anything in order to improve their performance, please let me know.”
Koganegawa took one look at Sakunami and opened his big mouth. Kenji cut in before this got out of hand. “Warm-ups, now! This isn’t a fashion show, this is volleyball practice, and I won’t have any more interruptions unless someone’s bleeding!”
“I like it when you get rough with us,” Obara called, just to be a brat, before Kenji threw a ball at him.
“That was very practical and straightforward! He wasn’t being rough with us, for once,” Koganegawa replied, perplexed, before Kenji got him running too with another bark of his name. Kenji didn’t like playing the loud, mean captain card, but he did if need be. He still wasn’t quite sure how else to do it.
He wished today would be time for one of Moniwa’s visits, but it seemed like luck wasn’t on his side. None of the troublesome upperclassmen showed up. Normally, he would’ve been overjoyed. Kenji didn’t want to examine his feelings too closely, and instead snapchatted another selfie with the new barrette to Kamasaki, just because he knew he’d screenshot it again.
“You’ve been sighing all day,” Mai said archly.
“Kinda wanted to ask Moniwa-senpai for more advice,” he glumly replied, because while he did sometimes fear their manager, he also valued her highly and would never do either of them the disservice of lying.
“Well, you can ask me!” she declared with a sparkle in her eye.
He brought this on himself, he reminded himself. “I guess.”
“I’m part of this team, too, and I’m here to help you all in any way I can. But if I can stop you from going grey early from over-thinking your role, then I’d love to help.”
Kenji sighed again as he checked his notifications. Kamasaki had already screenshotted it. “I feel like I’m stagnating with how to deal with Kogane and Sakunami. I know it’s up to them to work on their chemistry, but it’s draining just yelling at him over and over. I don’t know how else to approach him, though. Praise goes to his head, and he doesn’t see extra practice as a penalty.”
“For starters, don’t expect change to come quickly,” Mai advised, to his irritation.
“I know that.”
“You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I kind of am.” How were people supposed to deal with their underclassmen? He knew he’d been ungrateful, sure, and he could’ve dealt with a little shit like himself. Koganegawa was made of sparkles and sunlight and (too much) exuberance. Sakunami was made of puppies and rainbows and the kind of determination a kitten had when it’s trying to get down the stairs the first time. And Kenji was supposed to squish them together into a cohesive unit. “Not to mention the blocking issue,” he growled at his phone. “At this point, I’d take even Kamasaki stopping by, that’s how desperate I am. Do you think if I called him, he’d take off work to come save me?”
“Why do you know his work schedule?” Mai asked suspiciously.
“Is it so wrong to want a bit of help?”
She patted him on the shoulder, a little too hard. “They’ll shape up. You’ve been doing a good job so far, captain, I promise.”
“Tell me that again,” Kenji whined and laid across the bench, putting his head in her lap. Bless her for doing nothing worse than smacking his nose gently with her clipboard.
“Take your praise kink elsewhere, you filthy captain.”
“Nametsu! Where did you hear such dirty terms!”
“Mai-chan is talking dirty?” Obara ducked into their conversation, grinning, and Kenji burst out laughing. She smacked him again for good measure. “Oh, I get it, this is captain’s privileges?”
“No, it’s reserved for whoever has the most blocks at practice. So get your ass in gear,” she shot back, and threatened to smack him, too.
Kenji slunk away from her while she was distracted. Praise kink his ass. Actually, no, his ass was fantastic and deserved praise. But his captaincy skills didn’t, because he couldn’t smush his underclassmen together any better, and he had no fresh ideas to reach them. He felt, sometimes, like they were speaking different languages.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and he definitely did not want to examine the way his heart flopped over in his chest at the sight of an actual response from Kamasaki. He thought that’d only happened maybe once before, and that had probably been Sasaya’s fault.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to see his own selfie staring back at him, with devil horns and a snake tongue drawn over it. The caption only read “fixed it”.
He was a nice person, he didn’t deserve this kind of shit.
Aone and Fukiage managed to wrestle him away from sending shirtless pictures in the changing room, and his night only got marginally better when Aone invited him over again for dinner. He was pretty sure his mother had some sort of complex about wanting to feed him, but her dinners were amazing, and it beat convenience store shit.
“Hitomi-chan, don’t ever send anyone pictures of themselves with bad scribbles on it, okay? It’s rude,” Kenji sighed, dramatically, sprawled across Aone’s bed on his back. He glared up at his phone. Hitomi happily played with his hair, even upside-down as he was.
“You deserved it,” Aone grunted.
“Boys can be so cruel,” Hitomi said, sympathetically, and clipped back another overly long lock of hair. “Niisan, why d’you have a crush on one?”
Aone mumbled something he wouldn’t repeat. Kenji, while clinging stubbornly to the dredges of his dark mood, wouldn’t let him suffer. “You don’t really get to choose to have a crush on someone, Hitomi-chan. They just happen, and you like that person, like everything about them.”
“Tell me what you like about your crush!” Hitomi imperiously demanded, predictably.
Aone shot him a particularly betrayed look.
“C’mon, he’s shy about this, you know that,” Kenji said and prodded at the little girl with his phone. “Be nicer about it. Why are you so curious?”
“Because everyone has crushes at school except me, and I think they’re dumb.”
“That’s alright, too, you know. It’s not a race.”
“…What do you like about your crush?” she asked again, a little more reserved, definitely shyer. When she wasn’t acting so strong-willed, it was easy to see the family resemblance.
“…He’s determined,” Aone said in a very small voice.
Hitomi brightened at once. “Tell me more about him! He’s a good volleyball player, right? Like you?”
Aone nodded, and Kenji grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely good. They get crazy competitive, but never mean about it. That’s something you value a lot in volleyball, too.”
“Is he your age? Younger or older?”
“He’s younger,” Kenji answered. He wasn’t completely sure why he was answering for Aone, but he didn’t mind, and he could see the degrees by which Aone’s shoulders relaxed. The teasing was kind of fun, but it wasn’t so fun to fluster him about it. Kenji wasn’t heartless, and Hitomi certainly didn’t mean it unkindly.
“Is he shorter? He’s gotta be, right?”
“Yeah, he’s shorter.” He tried to imagine that little blocker as anything coming close to their height. God, what a terrifying mental image.
“What’s his name?”
“Nope, that’s gotta be something your brother gives up on his own, alright?”
“Then why do you know so much about him?” Hitomi asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “Do you know him too?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely.”
“Does everyone but me?!”
“No, definitely not. I’m just your brother’s best friend, or something, so it means we tell each other secrets. Or something.”
Aone laughed, very softly, at that. Kenji scowled, up at his phone, because he refused to be embarrassed about it. They were probably best friends, or something. Good friends, at least. Little girls could appreciate the importance of the title of best friend, though, so Hitomi dropped it with a thoughtful noise. “Or something?” she mumbled, and Kenji nodded, distracted.
He still needed to figure out how to respond to Kamasaki. It was probably incriminating enough that he’d taken so long—he probably would have to resign himself to not replying at all at this point. It wasn’t exactly a win in Kamasaki’s favor, but it didn’t sit well with him. Neither did the very tiny part of him that still wanted to ask for advice.
Moniwa would be better, but he’d already asked him for so much. Surely even Moniwa’s saintly levels of patience could run out when dealing with a maybe-insecure new captain. Maybe.
“What’s dating like?” Hitomi asked innocently.
“It’s waiting by your phone for hours trying to figure out how to reply to someone’s message,” Aone replied. Kenji rolled over onto his stomach with a nasty glare for his supposed best friend. That was fucking uncalled for.
“It’s hanging out with them, Hitomi-chan. Sometimes you deal with butterflies in your stomach about talking to them, but by the time you’re dating, you should be able to just talk normally to them. You can keep each other’s secrets, and go out together, but also stay in and just hang around with each other. And you do favors for each other, because you like each other.”
“What about candlelight dinners, and holding hands, and kissing?”
“Well, there’s that too,” he replied vaguely. He didn’t want to talk about any of the physical things with Hitomi, even as sharp as she was. That was definitely a conversation for their mother to have with her.
“Riza-chan says she kissed Kazuto-kun,” Hitomi declares with a fierce, disapproving frown. “I told her she should’ve waited until after the first date, because you’re not supposed to put out on the first date.”
“Hitomi-chan! Where did you learn such language?” Kenji, to his credit, tried very hard to seem disapproving himself, when instead he was two seconds from loud cackling.
“You can kiss someone if you’re dating,” Aone said, completely ignoring the fact that they were ten. When Kenji was ten, his biggest concern had been making sure he defended his Fastest Climber Of The Big Tree In The Park title. (He had.)
“Do you want to kiss your crush, niisan?”
Aone looked down at his lap with a very red face. Kenji tried to imagine just how far down he’d have to lean in order to kiss that guy, and almost laughed again at the mental image. He probably used up his asshole quota for today, so he should tone it down, he supposed.
“Don’t tease your brother,” Kenji said with a little bop to her head. Hitomi turned on him like he’d just attempted murder. “Be nice to the people you like, and the ‘like’ here includes family members.”
“So I don’t have to be nice to you?”
“Kenji-niichan, remember! I’m like your big brother, too, so be nice to me especially! And if even I can be nice to your brother, then you can do it, too.”
She gave him one last mistrustful look before returning to her work on his hair. Kenji wondered what it said about him that he’d willingly get into discussions like this with a little girl. He also wished, just once, she would call him niichan. He’d probably like a little sister like her.
—
Hair accessories slowly became a staple at practice. He still hadn’t had time to cut his hair. Kamasaki still visited twice a week. Kenji still hadn’t asked any of the third years for further advice. Life went on.
Every day he became more convinced that Koganegawa Kanji was karmic retribution in human form for the way he’d behaved the past year and a half on the team. On the days when they managed to get him into halfway decent blocking form, his tosses were a mess. The days when he was an okay setter, he was either too busy making googly eyes at Sakunami to bother blocking, or he ended up serving into someone’s head. Twice. Kenji didn’t appreciate the headache.
He went back to an empty home, alone. He was used to it, but it didn’t help his mood—well, then again, it didn’t worsen it. It meant he got to take as long as he wanted in the bath.
As he soaked, he contemplated his silent phone. He had started messages to Moniwa three times so far, just this week. He didn’t know how to phrase it without seeming rude, or ungrateful, or confusing. Hell, he’d accept being called needy, though he was certain Moniwa would never say that to his face.
Kenji sighed and resigned himself to… whatever. He didn’t even know what was in store for the team anymore. They were slipping down in tournament rankings, and while their reputation hadn’t suffered irreparably yet, he’d have to figure out a way to claw his way back up. Uphill battles were the worst.
It’d be better if they could squeeze in another few practice matches before the Spring High prelims. He wasn’t sure how to convince the coach of that without making him seem like he wanted to pick fights, though, and his top choices for teams to challenge would definitely make it seem like he held numerous grudges.
Maybe all of this year would turn out to be karmic retribution for his behavior.
—
The next day, he was accosted at lunch.
Kenji blinked up at Sasaya and Kamasaki, and then looked instinctively around for the third of their trio. “Moniwa can’t make it, but let us come to practice today!” Sasaya exclaimed, grinning.
“You’re… asking me for permission to come?”
“We’re asking for your permission to actually come and practice with ya,” Kamasaki corrected, “so don’t be an ass about it.”
“Just give me a moment to pick up my jaw from the floor. You’re asking. For permission to come. You usually barge in, even if it’s to play with us.”
Sasaya clapped him too hard on the back, still grinning. “Well then, we’ll invite ourselves in! Thought we’d be nice, but as usual, niceness is lost on you, huh? You only respond to the rougher things in life.”
“I can appreciate niceness,” Kenji grumbled. “Why all of a sudden, though?”
“Nametsu asked us if we could come help whip the first years into shape. She says you’re struggling,” Kamasaki said, brimming with smugness, and Kenji set down his chopsticks with too much force.
“I am not! Does she think two washed-up old men would help us?”
“I see you still haven’t learned how to ask for help,” Sasaya said with a pitying sigh.
Kenji debated sacrificing his chopsticks to shove them up their noses. One for each of them.
“We’ll see you after class, then! Looking forward to seeing you on the court again!” Sasaya gave him a cheeky salute as he left. Kamasaki just threw his usual glare over his shoulder as he filed out after him.
Kenji hated how excited he was for practice, now. He’d have to buy Mai roses or diamonds or something. And then bitch her out for this grave betrayal.
By the time he made it to the gym after class, running a little late because of a classmate asking for notes to borrow, Koganegawa was already stammering out greetings to the upperclassmen and most of them were changed. Kenji just waved as he jogged past; Sasaya was trying to herd them into starting warm-ups (as usual, like trying to herd cats, as distracted as they were by the unexpected visitors) but Kamasaki followed him.
Kenji pretended not to notice as he stashed his things beneath the bench. Kamasaki plopped down on the far end of the other bench, one leg over each side, and stared.
“Sorry, senpai, did you want to watch me change? I can put on more of a show if you’d like.” God damn himself and his big mouth. Kenji couldn’t even look in his direction after that one, and he wouldn’t complain if he got smacked for that one.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, jackass,” Kamasaki deadpanned.
Kenji heaved a sigh of relief into his jersey as he pulled it over his head. Only then did he turn to face him. “Then what do you want? It’s a little misleading to slink in after me for some private time, isn’t it?” Kamasaki had already changed, into old shorts and his usual t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up—don’t look at his arms, don’t look at his arms—so there wasn’t much of a reason for him to have followed him in.
“What are you planning with the team?” he asked, uncharacteristically serious.
“Same thing as we’d planned before you retired. Train up Kogane, get Sakunami to steer him on court, and get Fukiage polished up to par.”
“That’s it? Just try to keep everyone afloat?”
“It would be a damn good start,” Kenji snapped. “You hardly played with Koganegawa, but let me tell you, it’s a joy and a half. I cry myself to sleep every night because of how much I miss Moniwa-senpai.”
“No wonder you feel like you’re spinning your wheels, if all you’re doing is trying to babysit,” Kamasaki declared with a snooty look down his nose. Kenji bristled. “Your job is to turn it into a team, not trying to put everyone on some weird level and haul others onto it with you. You need new skills—”
“I’m working on my serves, and so is Onagawa,” he cut in. “I’d be satisfied if Kogane could toss halfway reliably before all else.”
“And have you talked to Koganegawa about extra practice, or have you just snapped at him like you always do?”
“What do you take me for, you?”
“At least I’m trying to help you—”
“I’m trying, okay?!” Kenji burst out without meaning. He thought his voice cracked with the emotion of it, but his memory refused to acknowledge it.
Kamasaki stared at him, and Kenji felt the shame and anger crawl up his neck. He turned from him, grabbing his water bottle, and fled the locker room with no real dignity left. Kamasaki was supposed to be the one who legitimately lost his temper over stupid things. Kenji was supposed to be coy and un-serious and definitely not be having a minor freak-out about this in front of Kamasaki, of all people.
Kenji, perhaps childishly, refused to speak another word directly to Kamasaki for the rest of practice. It worked out surprisingly well, even if Sasaya and Aone kept shooting bewildered looks at the back of his head. Mai seemed smug about going over his head to ask them for help, and he wouldn’t hold it against her, especially since they seemed to have taken it as a personal challenge to drill Koganegawa on different kinds of tosses until he could hardly raise his arms.
Aone wordlessly invited him over to his place after practice. Kenji agreed.
He knew he needed to thank them for their help today, but his pride wouldn’t let him approach Kamasaki directly, so he settled for a casual, “I’ll buy you both lunch sometime!” over his shoulder on the way out.
“Me too!” Mai called back.
“Anything you want, babe!”
Obara and Fukiage hooted over his word choice, as usual, and he managed to escape without any more interaction. He hardly managed to contain it until they got to Aone’s, before burying his face in his hands and groaning, loudly.
“I’m an asshole.”
He could sense Aone’s concern radiating off of him, though he didn’t look through his fingers at him.
“Nametsu asked them for help for me, and they did help, and all I did was snap at Kamasaki like the ungrateful kouhai I always am to him. Why am I such an asshole?”
“You’re not,” Aone replied, and next thing he knew, Kenji was pulled into his arms, like some hysterical girl who’d just gotten rejected or something.
“I am, you don’t have to lie to my face,” Kenji laughed. He rested his forehead against Aone’s shoulder, hands leaving his face to begrudgingly hook around Aone’s waist. “This is pretty gay, though. Thanks.”
Aone made a confused noise, but before Kenji could continue to deflect (badly) with humor, Hitomi burst into the room.
She froze upon seeing them hugging, eyes wide, and while Kenji dropped his arms, they didn’t back away from each other. Whatever words she’d so urgently needed to share died away, and instead, in a small voice so unlike her, she asked, “Are you okay, Kenji-niichan?”
“Ah, you called me niichan!” he crowed, delighted, and ducked out of Aone’s grasp in order to scoop her up. She kicked and scowled and even tried to bite him. “You cheered me right up, my precious Hitomi-chan. What did I do to deserve such a good little sister?”
“I’m not your sister! Put me down!” Finally, with a sharp yank on his hair, Kenji set her down. She looked ready to kick him again for good measure, but instead, she peered suspiciously up into his face. “You seemed upset, and you’re supposed to be nice to people when they’re upset, right?”
“That’s true, but I wasn’t upset.”
“Then why was niisan being nice to you?”
“He just likes me, I guess.” And Aone, bless him, let that slide, too. Kenji did not want to explain his insecurities and giant Kamasaki-shaped problem to his friend’s little sister.
Hitomi squinted at him, then at her brother, then back at him. “…I’m telling,” she said, solemnly, and bolted for the door. She only briefly paused to throw back over her shoulder, “And kaasan says dinner is ready now, since you two got in so late! Wash up!”
Kenji waited until she thundered down the stairs before repeating, “Thanks, man.”
Aone nodded, silent.
They washed their hands, Kenji finally took out the hair clip from practice, and when they made it downstairs, Hitomi was already seated at the table looking like the cat who got the canary. That wasn’t too out of the norm, to be fair, but Kenji wasn’t really ready for the sly smirk that their mother sent him. Apparently, neither was her son.
Aone sat down gingerly, like he was expecting something, and that had Kenji nervous, too.
“You two look like you’re guilty about something,” Aone-san said, lightly, and set down glasses of water in front of each of them. “Anything you’d like to share?”
‘I’m telling’, Hitomi had said, but telling what? Kenji had never gotten in trouble with Aone’s mother in his life. It was something he was very proud of, especially in his comparison to his troublemaking track record elsewhere.
“I understand that it’s your personal life, and Hitomi shouldn’t pry or gossip,” their mother began, with a careful look toward her daughter.
Kenji nervously tucked his hair behind his ear, shooting Aone frantic what the hell is going on am I about to get grounded looks. Aone, for his part, had about the same expression. Kenji rarely saw fear on his face, but he saw it now.
“But you know that I’ve tried to be very supportive of your sexuality, and I want you to know that I’m nothing but happy for you both!” With that, Aone-san set down the platter of chicken and sat, beaming bright enough to have been borderline illegal. Astronauts could see that smile from space.
“Uh,” Kenji said, smartly.
Hitomi looked impossibly smugger.
“When you told me you had a crush on another player, Takanobu, I’d thought it was on another team for some reason.”
It clicked with the same effect as a bucket of ice water down their backs. Kenji’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at Aone, staring hard with a Me? ME? look.
“I’ll speak with Hitomi about keeping this secret, if you two prefer. As it stands, I’m more than happy to allow Kenji-kun to continue visiting, but you shouldn’t be doing anything that you wouldn’t want me or Hitomi to walk in on. I’ll trust you, but do not abuse this trust—”
“Aone-san,” Kenji croaked, weakly. “I think—”
“Kenji-niichan still spends most of his time here using all my hair clips, anyway, I’m sure they won’t be kissing and stuff when he’s too busy trying to look better for niisan,” Hitomi pointed out, shrewdly, and Aone buried his face in his hands. Kenji was two seconds from joining him.
She called me niichan again, he thought, and then, why am I letting her get away with saying this shit? “I don’t. I don’t need to look better, that was for practice, remember, Hitomi-chan?” he asked with a strained smile. He flicked his hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head to make a point.
“You knew everything about his crush because you were his crush!” Hitomi accused. "And you said he loved you, and you said you liked him!"
“If you’d like us to pretend none of this happened, we will,” Aone-san pointed out, a hand placed on her daughter’s arm. “I can talk to Hitomi about this—”
“Why! I deserve to know!”
“Don’t be nosy, sweetheart.”
Kenji swallowed down the panicked laughter bubbling up his throat. “We’re not—!” He swallowed down his first attempt, too, shooting Aone a narrow-eyed look, because the big lug was a useless lump of familial embarrassment right now. The secondhand embarrassment was about to do him in. But he wouldn’t have two unintentional outbursts today, so Kenji cleared his throat, unclenched his fists, and tried again. “It’s not like that.”
“I don’t know what all the terms are these days,” Aone-san said, “but I’ll try not to offend.”
Nobody had ever tried not to offend Kenji before in his life. A wild bark of laughter escaped him before he could tamp it back down. Aone peeked up at him, guarded, and pleading. Kenji, fluent in Aone’s looks, had no idea what he was trying to say.
He was sitting at a pleasant family dinner, with a little girl who was finally calling him niichan, and a mother who was more in his life than his own, with his best friend who had just awkwardly fumbled his way through comforting him about his childish issues. “We’re not… dating,” Kenji forced out.
“Oh—oh my, I’m so sorry!” Aone-san exclaimed, reddening just like her son.
Hitomi was the only one immune. “You said he liked you! And you’re shorter than him, and younger than him, and you’re really good at volleyball just like him!”
“Hitomi-chan, don’t you think that’s reaching, just a little bit?” Kenji groaned. “Aone likes—” And that look, he did recognize from his friend. That was definitely his no do not under any circumstance do that face. (It was usually reserved for when he tried to pick fights with other players.) Kenji faltered, just for a moment, and then looked back at Aone-san. “We haven’t… gotten that far?”
“Even if I like you, you aren’t allowed to put out on the first date, remember,” Hitomi gravely told him.
“Hitomi!”
“Excuse me,” Aone finally gritted out, and pushed away from the table without touching his food.
“Taka—” his mother began, but Kenji had already slid out from his chair, following him up the stairs. The sounds of Aone-san reprimanding her daughter about privacy and rumors followed them all the way to Aone’s room, until he closed the door.
Aone sunk down into his chair, hands fisted in his short hair, and Kenji stood in front of him, completely unsure as to what to do.
“…Why don’t you want them to know about your crush on the Karasuno chibi-chan?” he finally settled on.
Aone shook his head.
“Half the team knows. I’m pretty sure half of Karasuno knows. Anyone who watched the match saw the way you two were at it the entire time.”
Aone shook his head, harder.
“I know Hitomi-chan is loud, and I know you want her to come to a match…” And no matter what she was told, she’d scream about it the entire time, and wouldn’t that be a way to be outed. It almost made that disastrous dinner look tame in comparison. “Okay, I get it. Kind of. But did I cover right? I had no idea what you wanted from me, there, and now we’re going to have to deal with your mom having weird thoughts about us.”
“I don’t want them to know about Hinata,” Aone said quietly. Kenji sighed, and nodded, and tapped his foot. He’d wait him out. “I don’t… I don’t care otherwise.”
“Hitomi-chan seems to think I’m a convenient crush source, but I have to admit, I kind of expected it from her before you. I’m fine playing decoy for you, by the way. I wish it hadn’t blindsided us, but I could get used to the tune of niichan.”
Aone glared up at him, unimpressed with his flippancy.
Kenji shrugged. “You just managed to out me to your mother and sister, and somehow I ended up being your crush. I’m allowed to be a little bitchy about this.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not really mad,” Kenji groaned, because he could never fake-mad with Aone. “…Your mom seemed really happy, huh.”
Aone nodded, and went back to hanging his head.
“I think my dad would beat me if he found out like that that I was dating a guy,” Kenji laughed, humorlessly. “You’re pretty lucky, man.”
Aone didn’t respond (again), so Kenji sat down on the edge of his bed, and kicked at Aone’s foot with his slipper. Still no response.
“C’mon, don’t look like such a kicked dog. I won’t tell anyone about your actual crush. What actually changes if Hitomi-chan is a little nicer to me, huh?”
“You don’t have to lie for me.”
“We technically didn’t lie,” Kenji mused.
They lapsed into silence. It was rare that Aone genuinely retreated into a mood like this, and Kenji, for once, didn’t want to try to push him out of it.
“As far as I see it, I have two choices right now. I awkwardly leave and let your family interrogate you, or we both go back downstairs, and I continue covering for you. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather get dinner.”
Aone looked up at him again, still wary, but less so.
“There’s not really any loss in pretending to be dating, or crushing, or whatever, is there? Hitomi-chan may have a big mouth, but it’s not like she’ll show up at school tomorrow with us. I like seeing your mom happy, and I can use this an excuse to come over for dinner more without guilt. It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked, testing, more unsure than he usually was.
Aone reddened, scowled, and turned from him.
But that wasn’t a no.
“Unless you plan on confessing to the Karasuno chibi-chan in the next five minutes, I’m going to go back downstairs, tell your mother that she embarrassed you to death, and eat your food, too. And you’ll let me spout whatever bullshit I want about our newfound relationship—”
“Stop.”
Contrary to his plans, Aone accompanied him back downstairs, and they both brushed off Aone-san’s frantic apologizing and Hitomi’s less-than-genuine attempts.
And Kenji casually re-introduced himself as Aone Takanobu’s new boyfriend, and finished eating dinner with them. Honestly, nothing much changed.
(That was their final, and worst mistake of all.)